elastic of her panties and then scooping between the receptive join of her inner thighs. Stroking her…loving her…
Overheated, Phoebe fanned herself with her rundown, then repositioned her bag strap firmly over her shoulder. This was getting way too hard and way too hot. The constant tug of war—whether she should or whether she shouldn’t—was making her crazy. A mass of frazzled nerves.
The sooner she was out of here, away from Pace, and on her way to Tyler’s Stream the better.
They met at the bottom of the bleachers amidst the smell of spilt soda, banks of dying lights and streams of departing audience members, who veered about them like rapids around two rocks. No surprise, Pace’s smile—oblique and entrancing—held even more power now that he was within touching distance.
Kissing distance.
He settled his arms over that edible chest, which this morning was covered by a collared white shirt, sleeves rolled high enough to reveal prominent cords wreathed beneath the surface of bronzed forearms. Phoebe held back a sigh as her tummy muscles twinged and squeezed. Could this man look anything other than completely sexy?
Too late, Phoebe realised she was staring. From the satisfied slant of his smile Pace realised it too. Clearing her throat, her cheeks flushed, she dropped her gaze. But other women passing weren’t shy about checking out the darkly attractive man who, remarkably, seemed to have eyes only for her.
Phoebe had a logical explanation for that.
She was his current object of desire. The power of the pre-coital gaze was well documented and part and parcel of any genuine seduction attempt. Predators mesmerised their prey with the power of their eyes. He was supposed to make her feel this warm and wickedly bothered…this giddy and aching with want inside.
Phoebe shook herself partway back. This was so not the time. So definitely not the place.
Herding her whirling thoughts together, she curled stray hair behind an ear and, schooling her expression, asked in a blithe tone, “So, how’d you like the show?”
“Very much.” A frown creased his tanned brow. “But I’m glad it’s over.”
She blinked at him. Glad? “Really?”
He stepped closer. “It means you’re free.”
When he gifted her a smile meant to strip the clothes from her body Phoebe battled to contain any evidence that might reveal she was liquefying on the inside, and in an extremely pleasant way.
Instead she pointed out, “I won’t be free for long. I have that trip home to make today, remember?”
“Indeed I do.” He performed a flourishing wave in the general direction of the car park. “Madame, your ride awaits you.”
Understanding dawned, and a soft smile lifted her mouth. He’d brought the loaner car here rather than have her go all the way into Brodricks. Bad boy or not, he was pretty good at this white knight stuff.
“I appreciate that,” she said, her tone nothing but sincere.
“Perhaps you can do me a favour in return.”
Her heart skipped several beats and, alert again, she laced then locked her fingers behind her back. “If it has anything to do with my hands touching your chest, count me out.”
Not here anyway.
He chuckled. “Still in denial?”
She wasn’t in denial. She knew the power he potentially had over her. Knew the dangers, too. But was he honest enough to be one hundred per cent truthful about what was behind his interest in her?
“Perhaps you can help me overcome my…denial,” she said. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re so keen for us to be…to be…?”
“Lovers?” he supplied and, her heart hammering at the evocative image that word drew in her head, she nodded. He rolled back his shoulders. “All right. I will.”
She had no time to think, to dodge, to tell him that what he was about to do was highly inappropriate—as if that would have stopped him. One second she was challenging him to admit that his persistence was more about the thrill of the chase than any extraordinary quality on her part except, perhaps, resistance. The next strong hands had cupped her bare shoulders and determined arms drew her near. Her heart had no time to leap from her chest before the event she’d imagined far too often was actually happening. And the reality of the experience was a thousand times more thrilling, and devastating, than she could ever have dreamed possible.
As his mouth met hers, a steam bath of longing rose up and stole the rest of her breath away. The effect started low in her belly and sped through her veins, making her every sense heat up and her mind go blank then bright with a million colours. She felt him, smelled him, and as his mouth locked over hers tasted him too, with every famished, sighing cell in her body.
He drew her closer at the same time as his tongue pried her lips apart.
But that wasn’t true. No force was needed. She opened up for him, offering no struggle. No fight. Rather, she let the rundown slip from her grasp and, as if on autopilot, slid her palms up over the steely cage of his ribs, then higher to grip the velvet-covered rock available beneath the smooth fabric of his shirt. Her fingertips brushed and then kneaded the buttons, aching to rip the front wide open.
When all too soon his mouth gradually left hers, Phoebe’s eyes remained closed and her clinging fingers stayed glued to his chest. She could feel his heart beating all the way through to her bones. His primal heat swirled out, filling her like a flash storm filled a needy well.
A deep, assured voice filtered through her pulsing fog. “Does that answer your question?”
Her heavy eyelids dragged open.
His strong shadowed jaw was the first thing she saw, but she felt so light-headed the world seemed to be tipped on its axis. Was she still on the same planet? In the same century?
Awareness slowly filtered back and, with an ice-cold draft falling through her middle, Phoebe realised precisely where she was. Then another even more frightening reality bubbled up.
Heat scorched her face as, near rigid with shame, she carefully angled her head. Her vision arced a horrifyingly slow forty-five degrees. The room was dead quiet, but not empty…in fact very much the opposite.
Perhaps fifty people stood frozen, all eyes on them. Some folk stared with mouths wide open. Others were grinning like loons. Many women held their hearts, a look of sublime amazement mixed with envy stamped on their faces.
Phoebe withered into her shoes as a shivering, shaky sensation dropped through her middle. Just when she thought she might shrivel up and keel over with embarrassment, a voice broke the silence.
“Mummy, that lady doesn’t look so good. Maybe Daddy should give her mouth to mouth next?”
It was too much. Phoebe’s knees gave way.
As she went to stabilise her weight against the bleachers’ hand rail, Pace caught and swept her up into his arms. A unified sigh from the crowd went up around them. She was centre stage in a way she hadn’t
